


Raviolis

by lacygrey



Series: Lacy's Loki Oneshots [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Food, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Loki & Reader Friendship, Massage, References to Depression, Tumblr: imagine-loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacygrey/pseuds/lacygrey
Summary: imagine Loki comforting you when your depression takes over, him trying his best to take care of you.





	Raviolis

A hand on your back, out of nowhere, like someone came to rouse you, but they’re not shaking you in the slightest. You weren’t so much asleep as simply beached; a heart like lead weighing you down on the couch.

You don’t say anything, don’t even sigh at the intrusion, just let out the next breath more heavily. It should annoy you or have made you jump. But no. You haven’t the energy. You just stay lying there and the hand stays where it is, a warm print between your shoulder blades.

“Huh.’ You say, finally, when it doesn’t budge, and roll over forcing the hand to withdraw.

It’s Loki.

Loki, God of chaos and terror, reformed tyrant and killer was touching you. You’d forgotten him. He wanders this place like a ghost or loiters in corners reading, easy to ignore. Loki, who’s not trusted to go out on his own yet, though you’re sure he finds a way. Now he’s looking at you, eyes wide in question, hand still poised in the air.

He doesn’t ask if you are okay or what’s wrong and you are most grateful as you’ve had enough of those questions.

He’s probably just curious. Perhaps people don’t get sick like this where he comes from.

“I saw many things in you,” he says, his gaze intense. “but I don’t know what I saw.” Another sort of question.

He moves the guilty hand to join its partner and starts to fiddle with them, those hands that have fought and killed in far off worlds, as he kneels there in this mundane living room and continues to gaze at you.

“You looked into my mind?” You’re knocked for six by the simple idea. You should be saying what a nerve he has, invading your space with his hands and your privacy with his supernatural powers.

“You are hurt, but I can’t tell where.” This seems to bother him, as though you were a problem it would have satisfied him to solve.

You do sigh now. Its bad enough trying to explain it to friends and family, let alone wayward vikings from space.

“Sometimes I feel bad and I can’t say why. Perhaps that’s why you can’t see it.” You skip over the part where he probably now knows your most intimate secrets by now. Its too late anyway.

He nods but looks confused.

“Imagine you’re shut in a box. No, in a room. Locked in a room with no door, but one where everyone can see in, and you can see out but you can’t get out.”

There his expression does change - shock, hurt and something else. Recognition?

“And people keep saying to you, ‘Why don’t you just come on out’, ‘just open the door’, because for them its as if there’s a door. They think they can see one, but you can’t see it. For you there is no door.”

“I would find and punish whoever locked you away.”

You want to laugh. But he’s sincere and the sentiment is a sweet one; most Asgardian in a valorous kind of way.

You smile instead and say, with the kindest smile you can muster, “But no one locked me away.”

He’s intrigued with you perhaps, or even fascinated, you can’t tell. In any case, for all his peculiarities, he’s remarkably easy to be with.

“Come out and eat.” He suggests, and in those words you can hear that he’s dying to escape into the city.

“I’m sorry, I’m too tired.”

“Then perhaps you should sleep.”

“I think I’m too tired.” He doesn’t react at the contradiction. “But I’ll try.”

You lie down again and, for a long time you say nothing, even you know he’s still there. You’re beyond deciding if it’s irritating or reassuring.

After a while he goes away and you don’t know whether to be relieved or sorry.

But then he’s back and he’s brought food, real food he’s obviously been and bought rather than magicked up, given the number of varied packages and his cluelessness about what they contain.

He doesn’t make a fuss about you getting up or moving. He just drags over the coffee table, plonks it all down and starts opening the boxes and bags. The smell is delicious.

You didn’t think you were hungry, you even said you weren’t, but perhaps that was hours ago.

You sit across from him and nibble while watching him eat, delicately, even when he does it with his fingers. He’s at a loss with chopsticks, which is hilarious and he asks you about everything.

“Are these sea creatures”?

“No they’re raviolis,” he looks just as bemused.

“Try one.”

“Ahh.”

“Good?”

“There’s fish inside.”

“Shrimp.”

He smiles, passes you the box, they are good.

“So how did you order if you didn’t know what anything is.”

“I just asked them to put a little of everything.” You’re trying to imagine the scene in the restaurant kitchen and you can’t help but smile.

“How did you pay?”

“With gold pieces, until they said it was enough.” Well perhaps he wasn’t too difficult a customer then, but he should definitely be accompanied next time.

Perhaps you’ve eaten pitifully little, but its already more than yesterday.

There’s takeaway cartons everywhere. You get up to at least help tidy it away.

“Let me do it.” he says. You think that its too much he do everything, he went and got it after all and shouldn’t have to clear up too. “Its nothing.“ he says and with a wave of his hand the debris disappears.

Everyone knows Loki’s story. You know he is neither human nor Aesir and that he is naturally cold. When he touches your back again though his hand is warm. It must be his magic. Even knowing all he’s come from, there is no way in the world it can frighten you now. You let the heat permeate, bone deep. He doesn’t stop and you don’t ask him and though Its impolite to fall asleep in the middle of a massage, in the end you can’t help it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: As far as I know, Ravioli and Har Gow have no common ingredients and are cooked in different ways. They have no obvious parallels except the way they’re made when this is done by hand. I saw Har Gow for sale under the name Raviolis in a local Chinese deli.


End file.
